


good cop, bad cop

by QLaLa



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLaLa/pseuds/QLaLa
Summary: Barry put another bag of groceries in the trunk, then turned an exasperated look on Leonard. “I’m not giving your son feedback on an attempted kidnapping.”Leonard tilted his head to one side, a challenge in those amused, blue eyes.“Myson?”“He’s your son when he’s committing felonies.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 24
Kudos: 164





	good cop, bad cop

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes the world is a hellscape and all you can do is write tooth-rotting fluff and hope it makes even one person smile. A fill for [this prompt](https://lesbianleonardsnart.tumblr.com/post/645057265861279744/if-youre-taking-prompts-right-now-please) on tumblr:
> 
> you had me at  
>  get in the trunk  
>  and don't try anything. 

“Get in the trunk! And don’t try anything.” 

The eyes were the electric blue of wild lightning, fiercely determined, and only about waist-high on Barry. The stance was classic CCPD training. The pistol was probably plastic.

Barry shifted the bag of groceries he’d just lifted out of the cart to his left hand and surveyed the pair in front of him. 

“The trunk of my own car?” He slid his gaze to the man standing behind the kid. “Is that a real gun?” The gun was definitely plastic; someone had clearly tried and failed to color over the brand name on the grip with a permanent marker.

“One way to find out.” It sounded about as authoritative in a child’s voice as the first command had. 

Over his shoulder, Leonard made a tilting, “so-so” gesture with one hand. 

As if that helped at _all._

“Don’t answer questions,” Leonard said. He was smirking, one hand in the pocket of an unfairly fitted leather jacket; he hadn’t even bothered with the parka. “His, or anyone else’s. Less he hears your voice, the better.”

The kid hefted the gun back to eye-level from where it had begun to droop, tongue poking out in concentration. He wasn’t actually using the sight—not that it would’ve mattered at such close range. A quick glance identified a couple other problems: his knees were locked, and his back was ramrod straight—good posture for a seven-year-old, not good posture for absorbing recoil. 

“You got notes, give ‘em to him.” 

Barry put another bag of groceries in the trunk, then turned an exasperated look on Leonard. “I’m not giving your son _notes_ on an attempted kidnapping.”

Leonard tilted his head to one side, a challenge in those amused, blue eyes. _"My_ son?”

“He’s your son when he’s committing felonies.” 

Leonard flicked his fingers dismissively. “Attempted abduction at worst.”

“Hey!”

“Which is a _third-degree felony,”_ Barry reminded him. “Henry, either point that at me or at the ground. You’re gonna hurt someone.” 

Henry pouted—an expression he did _not_ get from Barry, no matter what Leonard said—and put his arms down. “No one’s even here,” he said. He tucked the paintball gun into the back of his waistband—Barry threw Leonard a murderous look, and Leonard had the good grace to look pained—then threw a wide-eyed look of betrayal up at Leonard. “You said it would work!”

“On a bank teller, maybe. _”_ Leonard reached out, hooked a finger through the trigger guard and lifted it back out of Henry’s waistband over his squawked protest. “Safe to say the Flash knows his firearms.” 

Barry dropped the last bag of groceries in the trunk of the old Volkswagen that was serving as their car for the week. (He’d long since stopped asking where they came from, as long as Henry’s car seat was installed in the back when the keys showed up on the hook next to the front door.) Then he unhooked the support rod where it was holding up the trunk and dropped the hood shut. 

“What the Flash knows,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car, ”is that if that gun had even one paintball in it, your father is sleeping on the couch for a week.” 

Barry didn’t look at Leonard; he’d just be giving him the same smug, knowing smirk he always did when Barry claimed he was going to kick him out of bed. Just because he’d never lasted a full night without dragging Leonard back to their bedroom by the front of his shirt didn’t mean he appreciated his parental authority being undermined in an (admittedly, empty) public parking lot. 

Leonard ruffled Henry’s hair with one hand and passed Barry the paintball gun with the other. 

Barry pulled the magazine out, found it empty, and then passed it back to Leonard, ignoring the smug satisfaction radiating from his husband. 

“You can have this back—” Henry perked up instantly, and Barry almost felt bad when he finished: “—when you’re eighteen.”

Henry rounded on Leonard, the aghast expression comical on his young face. _"Dad.”_

Leonard leaned against the trunk of the car and inspected his nails. “Told you this morning. Wanna take a risk, gotta accept the consequences.” 

Henry’s suspicious look was such a perfect mirror of Leonard’s that Barry had to pass the back of his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Henry caught the gesture anyway, and he flung an accusatory finger at him and Leonard where they were now leaning hip-to-hip against the bumper. “You set me up! Both of you! I traded Aiden my best Magic deck for that!”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Barry said, though he stopped bothering to try hiding his grin. 

“You—” Henry stomped his foot, visibly scrambling for words large enough to encompass their betrayal. “You good cop-bad copped me!” 

Barry had never been so thankful for the speed force as when he saw the look of genuine offense cross Leonard’s face. His powers sparked into life when he reached for them, and he let time slow to a crawl around him. He fished his phone out of his inner jacket pocket, took a picture of Leonard’s expression, and then tucked his phone away before he rejoined the normal flow of time. 

“Your son just called me a cop,” Leonard said.

Henry made a noise of wordless frustration, then stuck his tongue out at them both. Barry should’ve reprimanded him, but he was too busy laughing, and he barely had the presence of mind to call, “Don’t slam it!” as Henry yanked the door to the back seat shut behind him. 

“You’re a bad influence,” Barry said, knocking his knee against Leonard’s. 

Leonard still looked moody, but he fired back, “Your father’s the one who gave him shooting lessons.” 

“He didn’t get tucking a gun in his waistband from Joe. You gonna talk to him about that?” 

Leonard conceded the point with a tip of his head, but Barry kept looking at him until he finally met his gaze. When Leonard looked up, he lifted an eyebrow at Barry’s stern expression, then drew a finger over his heart in an exaggerated cross. 

Barry couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head and glanced away as it turned it into a laugh. 

“Something funny?”

Barry grinned at him. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… You, the good cop.” 

The smirk dropped off Leonard’s face, which only made Barry grin wider. 

“Careful, Barry,” Leonard said.

“Or what?” Barry ghosted a touch up Leonard’s knee before settling his hand high on his thigh, fingertips just brushing his inseam as he met Leonard’s darkening eyes. He licked his lips, watched Leonard’s gaze drop to track the movement, and murmured, “You gonna gag me?” 

Henry’s cry of, “Can we _go?”_ through the back windshield was more of a wail than a question, and Barry laughed as Leonard’s lips were a hair’s breadth from brushing against his own. 

“Remind me why I agreed to this,” Leonard said, gaze still on his mouth. 

“Your idea.”

Leonard hummed a doubtful note, but leaned in and let Barry kiss him anyway.

“I can’t go _anywhere_ without you guys embarrassing me.” Henry was sulking in an exaggerated sprawl when Barry and Leonard opened the driver- and passenger-side doors. Barry supposed they’d had it coming; he’d need both hands to count the number of times he’d said the exact same thing to his family in the past month.

“And _don’t_ say it’s a grown-up thing,” Henry continued. “Aunt Lisa and Uncle Cisco aren’t all gross like you guys.” 

“Your Uncle Cisco is afraid of me,” Leonard explained, sounding too pleased by half. “Seatbelt.” 

“I'm already wearing it. I bet _their_ kid’s gonna get a paintball gun.” 

Something in his tone made Leonard pause in Barry’s peripherals, where he was in the middle of locking the paintball pistol in the glove compartment. 

Barry froze as well, then caught himself, and fumbled to get the key in the ignition. As soon as the engine caught, he shot his hand out to turn on the radio, heedless of the Flash speed he put into the movement. 

“Who wants ice cream?” His voice was too loud for the enclosed space, but Henry’s hand shot up in the rear view mirror anyway.

“Henry.” Leonard’s voice was casual, but Barry could feel his gaze burning into the side of his head. “What do you mean, Lisa and Cisco’s kid?”

Henry looked between them, suddenly unsure. “I heard Dad and Uncle Cisco—”

“The place near Joe’s should be open now,” Barry said, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. “It’s late enough in the year—”

 _“_ Barry.” 

“—on the phone. He said something about a stick with two pink limes—?” 

“Or maybe the snow cone stand by the mall! We shouldn’t ruin your appetite—” 

_"Barry.”_

“—and Dad said they could have my old crib, even though he didn’t even ask me first, so they only have to buy one.” 

The old radio was making a valiant effort at playing a Lady Gaga song through a field of static, oblivious to the way Leonard had become dangerously still. 

“One,” Leonard repeated.

Henry nodded vigorously, a full-body gesture. “Because of the twins.” 

The horn didn’t go off when Barry dropped his head against the steering wheel; he needed to remind Leonard to only steal cars with recent inspection stickers. “You were supposed to find out tonight,” he groaned. “Lisa thought—they went to the doctor yesterday. She’s probably getting the ultrasound right now. That’s why I needed to go shopping—they’re coming over for dinner. To tell you.” 

Leonard tapped the dashboard once, twice, and then went still again. 

Henry broke the silence with a tentative question. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Barry said (they could address the paintball gun tomorrow) at the same time Leonard said, “Your Uncle Cisco is.” 

Henry looked nervous, and Barry thanked the under-regulated auto industry of the 1960s that he could kick Leonard’s shin under the dashboard. 

“No one is in trouble,” he said, firmly. “You told the truth. We never get in trouble for telling the truth.” 

Henry mulled that over, and Leonard finally turned to give Barry a flatly disbelieving look.

“He’s seven,” Barry hissed, and Leonard rolled his eyes. 

“Just get the kid his ice cream.” 

“Can I get sprinkles?”

Leonard tilted the rearview mirror to catch Henry’s eye—despite Barry’s protest that he was _trying to back out of a parking spot, Len—_ and gave him a considering look.

“Depends,” he said. “Think you can find paintball rounds by the time Uncle Cisco knocks on the door tonight?”

_“Leonard.”_

In the back seat, Henry beamed. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked the story, feel free to leave a little love in the comment box below! You can find me on tumblr at [ lesbianleonardsnart. ](https://lesbianleonardsnart.tumblr.com)


End file.
